In the early months of the pandemic, locked down with my young children in a too small city row house with no real backyard to speak of, I found myself losing my patience, something already in short supply, much like milk, diapers, and grocery delivery slots.
Today we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation, the moment when God sends an angel to a young, unknown, unimportant Jewish woman to announce that she will bear the Savior.
In an Episcopal Mission Church in the mountains, Father Joe staunchly said: not one bit of Christmas until the Christ Child is placed in the manger.
Isn’t it the fundamental call of all Christians to take on the role of God-bearer?
As time went by, I found myself growing bitter toward Mary. She was a woman, but she had no idea what it was to pray for a baby and then not be able to conceive one. She received divine intervention without even asking for it.
Lately I’ve been praying through my spiritual past, letting memory guide me through how I became a Christian in a non-Christian family, how I traversed fundamentalism to later become Episcopalian, and how the Episcopal Church dared to ordain me both deacon and priest
Later today I’ll call 600 Kitchen & Bar in downtown Kalamazoo and ask a question I’ve never asked before. “Yes, hello, are you taking reservations for shipping container tables for February 28?”
A scene from that quirky 1993 movie Household Saints had been on my mind, and I found myself watching well beyond the part I intended to revisit.
I have to be very careful when I write about the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Ever since I returned to the church in my twenties, I have been inspired by the Blessed Virgin Mary.